


red - van mccann

by lovelyvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band), Van McCann - Fandom
Genre: Catfish and The Bottlemen, F/M, Mini Fic, Songfic, Van Mccann - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:08:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23645152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyvan/pseuds/lovelyvan
Summary: how about I change?how about you look at me the same, hey?how about I change?how about you love me again?
Relationships: Ryan "Van" McCann/You
Kudos: 5





	red - van mccann

_“Can he do what I do for you?”_

That one phrase slipped from his mouth so carelessly, breathing the words out into the air and through the phone without a second thought. 

“Van,” you whispered. “You have to _stop_. I… I can’t keep doing this.” 

He sighed into the phone. “He’s not good enough for you, love. You know that.”

You closed your eyes, pulling the sheets from your bed over your head as if you could protect yourself this way. “He is, though. He’s safe and comfortable and things are just… easy with him. A lot easier than they were with you.” 

“How many times do you want me to apologize?” he asked, his voice raspier than ever. “I’m sorry. So fucking sorry. I’ll change for you, do whatever you want me to do.”

“It doesn’t matter, Van,” you replied softly. After he didn’t respond for a moment, you hung up. He’d probably call again, just like he always did, but you knew you shouldn’t give in. You couldn’t. 

Things with Van had always been messy and complicated and downright painful. You had dated on and off for a long time, over the span of a couple years. Things started off great - you’d met in that pub, both a little too drunk, eyes frozen on each other from across the room until Van finally approached you with that smirk - and you couldn’t keep your hands off of each other. You were nearly inseparable for months and there was just so much _passion_. You followed him around as he performed at random pubs and small venues that slowly turned into bigger gigs. You fell downright, can’t sleep, pray-to-God-he’ll-never-leave-you in love with him. But with that much emotion comes trouble. 

You started to fight constantly, seeming to argue over anything at all times. You’d scream back and forth for hours until he’d slam the door, leaving you behind in tears only to go off and drown out his feelings with alcohol or drugs or whatever else he picked as a coping mechanism. You’d sit at home and cry and cry, vowing to yourself that no matter what he did or what he said, you’d end things with him for good. He was too chaotic, too emotional, too unstable. 

But you couldn’t. He’d come back to you, always, full of convincing apologies (he did have a way with words) and armed with flowers and heart-shaped balloons. He’d get down on his knees and beg if he had to, telling you he loved you and wanted to marry you and _goddamn it, I’ll give you everything._

Everyone always told you that it wouldn’t work out, especially when things for the band started picking up and he had to leave for tours or to record. Your mother said he was too immature, that he needed a real job. You’d wave them all off with a laugh, saying that none of it mattered. You loved each other too much for anything to mess that up. 

Except when he was gone, things got even tougher. You wouldn’t hear from him for days on end, leaving you sitting at home in a panic, calling his bandmates just to make sure he was okay. Van never was one to use his phone much but he’d _promised_ before leaving that he’d call you every night. 

He tended to break a lot of promises. 

When you did speak on the phone, it usually ended in a fight. You’d ask him why he never called you back, how could he go days without talking to you? _Do you even care about me?_ He’d sigh, saying he was a goddamn rockstar and had a lot of shit going on but _of course I fucking love you_. You’d tell him to lay off the drinking if he loved you so much, which just pissed him off more. "I don’t need this, y’know," he’d spit at you, being sure to throw in your face how countless girls came up to him at the end of each show, begging him to come back to their hotel rooms for the night. 

There were good moments too, though. Like when he’d leave the tour a night early, take a different flight than the rest of the boys just to surprise you at home. He held you so tight at night, fingers memorizing every detail of your body, sure he would lose you if he loosened his grip. He’d cook you breakfast in the mornings, grab your hand and spin you around the kitchen, singing in your ear as you danced. He hid little notes around your apartment, listing all the reasons he loved you, so you could find them when he left you for months on end and feel a little closer to him. He was everything you needed.

Then the cycle would start back up again - screaming matches, tears, another breakup that turned into makeup sex _so_ good it was almost worth it. Almost. 

In the end, you knew you had to let him go. There were a lot of highs with him - you loved him more than you knew people were capable of loving. You _adored_ him, worshipped him, for so long because you didn’t know how a person like Van could be real. His head was so full of stars - fucking galaxies, even. He was goddamn filled to the brim with love, giving any he could to the people cared about, especially you.

But the man who wrote you songs about his love for you, singing you to sleep at night with them and stroking your hair, was the same man who told you he hated you and wished he’d never met you, that you’d ruined his life as soon as you stepped into it.

When you ended things for good, he’d stormed out of course. Told you to ‘fuck off’ and that he was happy it was finally over, he was free. 

Within a few hours, he was knocking on your door, begging you to take him back. When he realized that you were actually serious this time - his little tricks and gifts wouldn’t work anymore - he cried in front of you for the first time. He stood in your doorway and sobbed, tears streaming down his cheeks like a faucet, bent over, face in his hands until you had to force him out, shutting the door in his face and shutting him out of your life. You wept with him through the door, your heart aching for him on the other side of it. But you knew that all of the hurt, the instability, the constant breakups and overwhelming emotions were too much. 

Your friends were all too pleased when you told them you’d broken up. Most didn’t even comfort you, just told you that Van had always been a piece of shit and you could do better. Within a few months, they were trying to set you up. You knew you weren’t close to being ready - you needed time to yourself, time to get over him. Van wasn’t exactly someone you could just forget about without a second thought. 

But they were relentless. You ended up finally agreeing to go on a date with one of your best friends’ neighbors just to get them off your back. 

Will was sweet. He was nervous, hand shaking as he took a sip of his drink. You laughed at his jokes politely, thanked him when he pulled your chair out for you. He was smart, already graduated and working at some big law firm. He told you all about how he was looking to buy a house and wanted to fill it with a wife and kids someday. You found it all very endearing. He was stable, secure, put-together. He kissed you on the cheek when he dropped you off, told you he had a great time. He wanted to see you again. 

So you agreed to go on another date with him. You went to a movie this time and of course, he paid for the tickets, opened the door for you, and offered to buy you popcorn. He even held your hand for most of it. 

Your friends asked about Will and you’d laugh, say he was nice but you didn’t think it would go anywhere. They’d all roll their eyes. _“He’s perfect for you, don’t you get it?”_

Was he?

After your third date, you invited him into your apartment. He was respectful, telling you he didn’t want to move too fast or rush you into anything. You cuddled on the couch and shared your first kiss. It was so easy with him. You were never nervous around him, never afraid to say the wrong thing and set him off. 

He told you that he liked you and wanted to be with you. It caught you off-guard - you’d never dealt with someone who was so open with their feelings. You were a little wary at first but you agreed, figured some stability might just be what you needed. 

Will always called you when he said he would, introduced you to his parents, sent you flowers for no reason. He was perfect. You were lucky to have someone so reliable, so caring and you knew this - but you couldn’t help but think something was missing. 

“Tired, babe?” he’d asked you one night as you laid on his chest, dozing off during the movie you were watching. 

“Mhm,” you mumbled. It was Friday night and you’d had a long, stressful week at work. You hadn’t slept properly in days and now that it was the weekend, you were glad you got to relax a little. Takeout, wine, and a movie was perfect. 

“I think I’m actually gonna head home,” he said, stroking his thumb across your shoulder. “I gotta pick up my parents by six tomorrow.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that,” you replied with a yawn. Will lived about twenty minutes away from you, which meant he’d have to drive even further to the airport in the morning if he stayed the night. 

He slid out from under you carefully, giving you a sweet kiss and said goodnight. You finished off your glass of wine after he left and flopped back on the couch, focusing back in on the movie. You realized you hadn’t been paying much attention so you had to rewind it. 

You jumped when your phone started buzzing. “Jesus,” you muttered. You fished it out from the blankets and your stomach dropped when you saw the name flash across the screen.

 _Van._

You hadn’t heard from him since you’d broken up months ago. He’d never called you or texted you or even shown up again at your door like you assumed he would. It was good and it let you heal a little easier. But now here he was, calling you out of the blue. 

Your heart was pounding. You knew you shouldn’t answer it. There was no need. It was nearly midnight and you should just let it keep ringing and go to bed, fully forget about him like you’d been trying to do.

You answered it after one more ring. “Hello?” 

“Darling.” His voice traveled through the phone so smoothly, wrapping around you like a thick blanket on a cold day. 

Your breath hitched in your throat. “Why are you calling me?” you whispered. 

There was a lot of noise on his end, music and people shouting. His response was barely audible. “Missed you, of course.” 

You sat there waiting for more, phone pressed up against your ear, heart racing. “It’s been six months, Van.”

He sighed into the phone. “God, I've waited so long just to hear you say my name.”

You could tell by the way his words formed, like he was speaking in cursive, that he was drunk. 

You cleared your throat. “Is something wrong? Do you actually have a reason to be calling me?”

“Don’t be so serious love,” he chuckled. “Can’t we just talk?”

“No, we can’t,” you replied shortly. You licked your lips before you spoke again. “I think I should go.”

“No, no, please don’t,” he replied quickly, his tone shifting. “I just… I need to apologize. I’m sorry for everything, love. I fucked up and I know that. I treated you badly. But I want you back. I haven’t stopped thinking about this shit since we broke up. I need to feel you,” he breathed into the phone. 

You exhaled shakily. “Van. I’m with someone else.” 

He didn’t say anything for so long you thought he’d hung up. But then you heard him cough and after a moment, he spoke. “You’re serious?” 

“Yeah. We’ve been together for a couple months now.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” This time he hung up, leaving you sitting alone on your couch, jaw dropped and mind racing. 

Over the next few days, you tried not to think about the phone call. Tried to force the memories that were resurfacing down into that private spot in the back of your brain reserved just for him. You’d spent so long pushing those thoughts back but it was hard to stop them now. 

After a week, you broke down. You looked him up to see what he’d been doing since you’d broken up. You scoured the internet, reading every article that talked about Catfish being the next big rock group, watching every live performance you could. You were entranced by his stage presence, thrashing around on his guitar the same way he’d done when you saw him play for the first time at that tiny pub, years ago. 

You’d seen him play so many venues throughout his career but watching videos of him online now that he wasn’t yours brought you right back to the memory of twenty year-old Van, so naive, head full of dreams to become famous enough to play with the likes of The Killers or The Strokes. 

Of course, you’d always known he would take those seemingly impossible desires and crush them with ease. He had such a strong love for music and for performing and he was just so fucking _talented_ that you were never surprised when he’d called you up to tell you some exciting news about the arenas they would be playing that seemed to just get larger and larger each time. 

You realized that since you’d last seen him, he’d only become more successful. Within those few months, they’d released the album he’d been working so hard on while you were still together. You read reviews and everyone loved it. No surprise there. You wouldn’t let yourself listen to it even though you wanted to so desperately. It would only make things worse. 

The hole in your chest that opened up after you’d ended things with him was growing a little each day and there was nothing you could do about it.

It didn’t help that Van started to call you regularly. Every couple of weeks, like clockwork, he’d call you, always while he was drinking. And every time you tried to just ignore it - but you never could. 

At first, he kept it innocent enough. He’d always say he missed you but then he’d ask you how you were doing, wanting to know about work, your family. He’d jump into stories about the new album and all the interviews and traveling he’d been doing, words slurring together so beautifully. 

Then he started to push his boundaries. His voice would get so low and raspy as he told you how he missed your hands, your body, your _mouth_. You’d lick your lips, eyes fluttering shut as he whispered all the things he wanted to do to you over the phone. 

You knew it was wrong. You knew that you weren’t being faithful to Will. But you just couldn’t fucking let _go._

“Can he touch you like I can?” he rasped into the phone one night as you were curled up in bed, tucked under the covers. 

Whenever he spoke like this, you tried your best not to say anything back. You figured maybe then it wouldn’t be considered cheating (but you knew it still was). 

“Bet he can’t even make you cum.”

“Van!” you squealed in surprise. He chuckled at your response, the flick of his lighter audible. 

“Am I wrong, sweetheart?”

You cleared your throat, curling your toes and trying to make yourself less fucking turned on. “I can’t keep talking to you,” you muttered after a moment. “It’s not fair to Will. I’m serious, Van. This… whatever the fuck you’re doing, it needs to end now.”

He took a deep breath. “Just let me see you and show you what you’ve been missing. Then I’ll leave you alone if you want.” 

“ _No_ , Van. I can’t do that. I don’t want to talk to you anymore, okay? Don’t bother calling me anymore. I’m done with whatever this is.” 

After this, he did stop calling you, thankfully. You felt guilty about the whole situation, so you focused all of your energy on Will, being the one to surprise him with gifts and send him those endlessly long sweet texts he loved so much. He could tell you were acting a little different - you never were one for all that sappy shit - but he soaked it up with no questions asked. 

“So what are you up to tonight?” Will asked you over the phone one Saturday night. You were digging through your closet, looking for that certain dress that was nowhere to be found.

“I’m meeting up with my sister and her boyfriend, they’re staying at a friend’s in town and I haven’t seen her in a while.” 

“That sounds great. I gotta go, Dad’s calling me but have fun, love.” 

You hated it when he called you love but you never had the heart to tell him. 

“Fuck’s sake,” you muttered under your breath as you stepped into the bar later. It was crowded, full of obviously underage people, little room for you to weave your way to the bar. You scanned the room until you saw your sister, Emily. 

She waved at you excitedly from a booth, a huge grin across her face. “Hey!” she said as you hugged her tight. 

“I’ve missed you so much,” she said with a pout as you slid in the booth across from her and her boyfriend, Oliver. 

“God, I know. It’s been too fucking long.” 

You chatted for a long time, Oliver continuously feeding you alcohol, like usual. 

“So how’s Will? We’re both dying to meet him,” Oliver said, taking a sip of his beer. 

“Good, yeah. He’s got some family stuff going on so he’s actually been out of town for a bit. But you’ll definitely have to meet him soon.” 

Emily smiled at you, leaning her head on Oliver’s shoulder. “And you’re doing okay still, after the whole Van thing?” she asked, her voice lowering. 

Emily was the only person who understood your perspective from your whole relationship with Van. They always got along really well and she liked him a lot. She’d comforted you as best as she could through your breakup while she was out of the country. 

“Yeah, I’m alright. It’s been close to a year, so y’know. Moved on and everything.” She nodded, giving you a look of clear disbelief that you ignored. 

“Speak of the devil.” You furrowed your eyebrows, turning to look at where her gaze was fixed. 

There he was, walking through the door in that ratty old leather jacket, his head tilted back in a laugh. 

“Jesus Christ. Why me?” you muttered, sinking down in your seat. 

“Do you wanna go?” Emily asked.

You shook your head. “No, it’s fine. Everywhere else is gonna be packed right now. I’ll just ignore him.”

And you tried your best to do just that but when he leaned up against the jukebox right in your peripheral vision, it was hard not to notice him. You hadn’t seen him in person in nearly a year and God, he looked good. You glanced at him occasionally, hoping he wouldn’t notice as you ran your eyes up and down his body. He looked taller somehow, older, his hair a little longer and pushed back off his face. 

You snuck another look at him, and this time he was staring right back at you. You knocked over your drink, spilling the last bit on the table in front of you. “Oh, shit,” you muttered. Oliver laughed, grabbing you some napkins to help wipe it up. 

“Very smooth,” Emily said with a chuckle. 

After a minute, you glanced at him again. He was still staring at you, a little smirk playing on his lips this time. You tore your gaze away from him, trying to focus back in on what Emily and Oliver were teasing each other about. 

You didn’t even have to turn your head to know his eyes were fixed on you still, burning a hole in the back of your head. You shifted around in your seat, finishing your drink and trying to pretend he didn’t exist. “Should we do a shot?” you asked with a grin.

By midnight, you were fairly tipsy. Emily and Oliver bid you adieu, only having to walk a short distance to where they were staying, and leaving you to go the bathroom before you called yourself a cab. You squeezed through the crowd, relieved when you finally stumbled outside. 

You looked around at the alley, a little disoriented. You realized you must’ve gone out the wrong door when you heard his voice. 

“Love.” You turned and there he was, leaning against the brick and smoking a cigarette. 

You turned to go back inside when his voice stopped you. “Don’t go. Please.” 

You stepped toward him, crossing your arms. “What do you want, Van?”

He finished his cigarette and lit another with the end of the first, exhaling without taking it out of his mouth.

“Guess you didn’t come looking for me, then?”

You shook your head quickly. “No. I was trying to go home but I’ve never been here before and I went out the wrong fucking door and now I’m here with you,” you whined, kicking some dirt in front of you. 

“Bit drunk are you?” 

You rolled your eyes, leaning your side on the building so you were facing him. “So what if I am? I’m just like you, then.”

He cleared his throat, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “I don’t drink as much anymore, y’know. Cut down a lot. Quit drugs too, just a little smoking here and there.” 

You raised your eyebrows at him. “And I’m supposed to believe that?” 

“I’ve changed, love,” he replied softly. “Changed because of you.” 

He inched closer to you, close enough that you could see the bags under his eyes and the stubble forming on his chin. 

You looked at the ground, trying so hard to push away the thoughts that invaded your head. Here he was, standing before you after all this time. He was _real_ and alive and so much more than the ghost you’d been living with for the past year. Your head was spinning, the alcohol only adding to the situation. You felt sick to your stomach. 

“Hey,” he whispered, bringing his thumb and forefinger to your chin, tilting your head up and forcing you to stare right back at him. He looked so sad, his eyes empty, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “I wish you’d look at me the same.” 

“What do you want from me, Van? We’re not good together. You know that.”

He shook his head. “Things’ll be different now, love. I promise.”

“A promise from you doesn’t mean anything.” 

He ran a hand down his face. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. He reached forward, grabbing your hand. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes, forcing him to blink them away quickly. 

Your voice shook. “I’m sorry too. But it doesn’t matter anymore.” 

He shook his head. “It does matter. It does matter because I can’t do this without you anymore. I fucking _need_ you.”

And he was kissing you, his hands traveling everywhere they could, pushing you against the brick wall. You gripped his shirt, knotting it in your hands as you kissed him back, pulling him tight against you. Everything about him was the same, his calloused hands against your hips, the smell of his shampoo, the taste of his tongue. You were like putty in his hands. A low noise came from his throat and God, you needed him _closer_.

You kissed in the alley and in the back of the cab and didn’t stop until you had to pull away to unlock your door. You tossed your keys on the counter, dragging him into your bedroom, hands slipping under his shirt. “Love what you’ve done with the place,” he mumbled, looking around at your room before you kissed him again.

The weight of him on top of you was just as you’d remembered. This is what you’d been missing, you realized. His fingers running down your spine, over your hips, around your neck, relearning every dip and curve of your body. Like he could have ever forgotten. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Perfect,” he mumbled against your skin. 

You curled your toes, head tilted back, _just like that._

He was everywhere, right where you needed without even asking him. He was showing you what he could do for you, how he could take care of you - this is how it could be forever. 

You arched your back, letting obscene sounds slip from your mouth, his fingers bruising your hips, _fuck, you feel so good_. 

Tears pricked at your eyes when he whispered that he loved you in your ear. 

You laid your head on his chest as you both caught your breath, his arms wrapped tightly around you. You closed your eyes, focusing hard on the way his chest rose and fell, how his lips felt against your forehead, every part of him against you. You never wanted to forget it. 

He moved your hair off your shoulder, ghosting his fingers along your collarbones, up and down your arm. “You don’t know how happy I was when I saw you tonight,” he said quietly. 

“I was clearly surprised, knocking my drink over and all,” you replied with a smile. 

He laughed softly, bringing your hand to his lips to press soft kisses against your knuckles. “Honestly, though, love. I’ve been so lost without you. I’ve changed a lot but I realized none of it mattered if I didn’t have you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat and you closed your eyes. You thought of the very first time you kissed so many years ago, fumbling hands and teeth clinking together. You thought of the first time you made love, the first time he told you he wanted you to have his children. You thought of all of this as a lump formed in your throat, refusing to go away no matter how hard you swallowed. You thought of the fights and the drinking and the hours you’d cried over him, the emotion that was like a goddamn tidal wave with him - always pulling you back in. 

“How ‘bout you love me again?” Van whispered, tilting your head up and bringing his mouth to yours. 

Two words. Two words was all it took to break his heart all over again. 

“I can’t.”


End file.
